


Staying Awake All Night in the Garden

by Menya_Savut



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Bittersweet, Gen, M/M, Roman Catholicism, Themes of Identity, slight blood, themes of death and the afterlife, themes of homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:32:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8571577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menya_Savut/pseuds/Menya_Savut
Summary: In the 1930’s and 40’s, Italy was largely Catholic. Nico might have gone to Mass with his mother and sister when he was young. Now, seventy years later, both mother and sister are dead, he’s learned he’s the son of a pagan god, he’s gay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to JESUS  
> This story brought to you by Google, who always has my back when I have really obscure questions about random intricacies so that I can make my fanfictions hyper-accurate which no one cares about. Thank you, Google.

_And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day._

 

He shadow-traveled to the courtyard at half-past dawn. The picturesque setting opened up to him; old cobblestones, worn down by weather and the footsteps of countless visitors, blackbirds scuttling together in flocks, then breaking away. The stone façade of the cathedral stood ahead of the sun, so that its face was still cast in shadow at this young hour.

It was too early even for those that attended morning Mass; the courtyard remained empty save for the birds. Nico stood in the shadow of the tree. The sun inched higher, imperceptibly.

A breeze disturbed the tree’s branches. Nico made his way across the courtyard. It was still just a breath on the side of cold, and he hurried under the main arch.

To his surprise, the church was empty – truly empty; there were no pews, only the bare marbled floor. He swiveled slowly on the spot; in one corner, naked scaffolding rose up to the ceiling, a platform lift hung poised in disuse. The frail morning sun bled through the stained windows, splashing the floor with diluted drops of light.

A sound caught Nico’s attention; he turned and saw a man sweeping the floor near a side doorway.

“Excuse me?” he called softly.

The man looked up.

“May I come in?”

“Sure, go ahead,” the man said in a weathered voice. “There’s nowhere to sit, though,” he added unnecessarily.

“Thanks,” Nico nodded, and the man made his way through the doorway.

Nico walked forward. At the back of the church stood the altar, a magnificent centerpiece of Rosso Alicante marble and warm red oak, covered by heavy white linen. Behind the altar sat the celebrant chairs, and above them hung the crucifix, larger than life and made of gleaming wood. Nico considered the carved face, eyes gazing toward the heavens, the crown of thorns set delicately upon the forehead. Past the crucifix was the chapel, and at its center, a small golden box and a red candle, lit and flickering.

The floor was silent beneath his sneakers. The sweeping man had long gone. Nico lowered himself to the ground. He angled forward; his stomach touched the floor and he extended his legs out behind him. He reached out his hands and folded them, one on top of the other, and rested his forehead against them.

The stone was cool against his palms. He closed his eyes.

“ _Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome...”_

 

_You shall have no other gods before me..._

 

The church finished renovations within the week, and that Sunday, eleven o’clock Mass was well attended as usual. Parishioners shuffled about, taking their usual seats next to their friends and appeasing restless children. Breathy whispers echoed around the nave.

The bell tolled.

Everyone stood. The choir began to sing.

Nico turned; from the narthex, the entrance procession filed in, led by a crucifix that mirrored the one suspended from the ceiling. Behind the altar server bearing the crucifix, two more followed, their tall candles illuminating their faces. Other ministers filed, and then the deacon and priest, dressed in deep green vestments. Each bowed to the altar and took their designated places in the sanctuary. The hymn ended, and the priest raised his hand.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit...”

Nico hadn’t been to Mass since he was six. In all honesty, he’d been surprised that he still remembered the words to the _Padre Nostro_. In addition, he’d never been to an English Mass, and although the meaning was essentially the same, the words sounded strangely foreign.

At Communion, Nico crossed his arms over his chest. When it was his turn to approach the priest, he bowed his head, and the priest touched a hand to his hair.

Nico didn’t linger. As soon as all the ministers of the recessional exited, he slipped after them. He found an empty alcove and dissolved into the shadows.

Camp Half-Blood at noon was warm and bright. Most of the campers had woken up and had gone to lunch. Nico headed to the dining pavilion and accepted a plate of food from a wood nymph. He quickly joined the line leading toward the central fire. When he reached it, he slid a slice of barbecue into the flames.

“Hades.”

 

_If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple..._

 

Those of the Underworld know that the only guarantee is death.

Nico’s mother died when he was six, in a country she didn’t know, in a edifice of unsettling magic. She was killed by fear.

Nico’s sister died when he was ten, in a world they’d only just discovered. She was killed by love, and the cruelest destiny. Her body rested in a metal sarcophagus.

Nico wondered how much the Fates considered each life they took. Did they always know, from the time of a mortal’s birth, when he would die? Or did they discover each day whose life was to end?

The upper room was lit by only two candles, set on a low table. Between them sat a ciborium, glowing dully gold in the candlelight. Nico knelt with the congregation. The notes of the _Tantum Ergo_ trembled around him, chanted by the ministers and choir. The night was young.

What did the Fates say to Jesus of Nazareth? His string had been cut, and then it had weaved itself together again, _in saecula saeculorum._ But he hadn’t gone to Heaven, or Elysium, or whatever – he had come back to Earth first.

He hadn’t wanted to suffer. _Take this cup away from me._

_I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep._

Tomorrow, Jesus would die, in the middle of the day, under the bright, hot sun. He would hang, held up by nails in his extremities, until he suffocated under the weight of his own body. Then they’d be surprised that he’d died, as if they hadn’t killed him themselves, and they’d run a sword through his side for good measure.

And then he’d lie in a tomb for three days, and then he wouldn’t anymore.

The burning in Nico’s knees had long faded. The whole room was shadows. The _Tantum Ergo_ ended, to be replaced with silence.

When he woke up, sitting back on his heels, he felt like a murderer.

 

_In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed shameful acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their error..._

When Nico was young, he’d wanted to be an altar server. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out why; little Nico hated sitting still and being quiet, and his mother had struggled to make him behave in church. Maybe he’d wanted to do it because he would’ve been able to move around more; being an altar server would mean following the priest around and helping him set things up throughout the Mass.

In any case, he didn’t know why he wanted to do it now.

But it didn’t matter; Nico couldn’t be an altar server because he hadn’t had his first reconciliation or first communion. And going through those sacraments meant a long course of classes, and of course performing the sacraments themselves. Nico scoffed to think of confessing his sins. _I’ve worshipped other gods, I’ve betrayed my friends, I’ve killed, I’m gay..._

“Have you been shadow-travelling again?” Will reproached. They sat on the floor of the infirmary stockroom, folding newly-laundered scrubs. “You’re a little pale,”

“Um,” Nico said. “I was working in the Underworld.”

_I’ve lied..._

Will frowned. “Make sure you don’t spend too much time down there, or at least wait a while before you shadow-travel there and back.”

“Okay.”

They fell silent. Nico picked at a knotted drawstring on a pair of pants.

“Love you.”

Nico looked up, surprised.

“You never used to listen to me,” Will said, gazing fondly at him over the laundry basket. “I must’ve finally charmed you.”

Nico snorted weakly. “Sure. Love you too,” he added, a little delayed.

The irony of the situation didn’t escape Nico’s notice, about wanting to be an altar server and being gay. The greater irony, though, was the fact that the Greeks used to practice pederasty as a norm. This was different, though.

 

_But whoever disowns me before others, I will disown before my Father in heaven..._

Nico suspected Percy and Jason knew something was up. But neither questioned him, and Nico got the sense that they hadn’t thought to talk to each other.

Jason, as usual, pretended that he wasn’t watching Nico, but Nico knew he was trying to puzzle him out. Percy was different; he didn’t seem to care that Nico knew he suspected something. He never said anything when Nico made excuses to slip away every Sunday morning at breakfast. He simply locked eyes with Nico and let him go.

Nico considered telling someone, Hazel at least, but speaking to your live sibling about your dead one was uncomfortable at best. Plus, Nico hated long explanations.

Mass was held on the night of All Saints. Although the celebration was the same as any Sunday, the darkness of the world outside made the congregation more subdued. The candles flickered yellower and the words rested heavily behind Nico’s eyes. He listened as the priest recited the Beatitudes, each passing like the rhythmic tolling of the bell.

The sun had long since set when Nico appeared at camp. He could see the point of light that was the bonfire in the distance. As he passed the Big House, someone came down from the porch.

Percy slung an arm around Nico. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

They walked to the bonfire.

 

_Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven..._

 

The beast’s breath raced against his neck; Nico whipped his head around and saw only blood – his own, the monster’s; it coated the grass beneath them – the sun was setting, the beast raced closer – Nico scrambled around the side of a building and melted into the shadows –

He collapsed in the alcove, and it took a moment for him to recognize where he was. When he did, though, his heart stopped.

The church, lit only by the altar candles, and someone else was there.

Father Hector knelt, unmoving, in front of the monstrance. Nico crept behind a pew and peered over; he hadn’t seemed to notice Nico’s sudden appearance. Nico softly released the breath he was holding, and made to move back into the empty alcove.

“I know you’re there,” Father Hector said, without turning. “Come forward.”

Nico froze. He could still slip into the shadows. Father Hector wasn’t looking at him. He could soundlessly run away, and Father Hector could think had just imagined things...

Nico stood and weaved through the pews to the main aisle. He walked forward, into the candlelight, and knelt, bloody and fading, beside Father Hector.

“Pray with me.”

So Nico folded his hands and bowed his head.

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth...”

Father Hector’s rosary beads clinked between his fingers. Nico stayed silent as Father Hector recited the creed and the Our Father. But Father Hector paused after that, and turned to Nico. He didn’t react to Nico’s bloodied and torn clothes, or his slightly translucent hands.

“Now you pray,” he said.

Nico breathed in.

“ _Ave, o Maria, piena di grazia, il Signore è con te..._ ”

The priest’s eyes widened at that. Nico focused on a spot on the ground in front of him, and finished reciting the three Hail Marys. Father Hector took up the Rosary from there, and they took turns leading, Father Hector in English and Nico in Italian. Nico didn’t have Hail Holy Queen memorized, so Father Hector led the ending of the Rosary. When they finished, Father Hector made the sign of the cross and sat back on his heels.

“What sort of being are you?” he asked calmly.

Nico had solidified completely by then, and he wiped the blood out of his eyes. He shifted to sit down, and noted the smears of blood he left on the floor. “I’m...”

“I’ve seen you appear and disappear,” Father Hector said. “From the empty alcove. A statue of St. Nicholas of Tolentino used to stand there, you know, before it fell apart and had to be taken away. I thought perhaps its disappearance had something to do with your visits, but it was only ever a statue. And no demon prays in Italian.” Father Hector’s lips twitched in a smile. “So. What curse has been placed upon you?”

Nico started, then nearly laughed. A curse. What a fitting interpretation. “I – ...Pagans?”

“The Pagans. The Pagans have cursed you to bleed and fade and teleport,” Father Hector said. Nico did smile at that.

“Yes.”

“Okay, son,” Father Hector said. “You’re lying, but not completely. I’ll accept it for now.” His eyes softened. “Are you hurt?”

Nico snorted. “Yeah.”

“Was it the pagans again?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Father Hector said, surprising Nico. “At least they’re too bold to hide. You can use the showers in the parish life center if you’d like. I’ll try to dig up a first aid kit.”

“That’s okay,” Nico said. “I need to leave,”

Father Hector nodded sagely. “I’ll see you on Sunday, then.”

Nico didn’t miss how Father Hector’s eyes followed him to the empty alcove. He found he didn’t mind; though. He disappeared into the shadows.

 

_I will fill your mountains with the slain; those killed by the sword will fall on your hills and in your valleys and in all your ravines. I will make you desolate forever; your towns will not be inhabited. Then you will know that I am the Lord..._

 

Nico had panicked, and he’d shadow-traveled to the cathedral again.

This time, the only other person there was Percy Jackson, and he immediately rushed over.

 _“Nico! Poú ísoun?_ ”

Nico didn’t answer. He grasped Percy’s arms, and Percy lifted them onto a pew.

“ _Pou écheis chtypísei? E?_ ”

Percy turned his face, examining it critically; he patted down Nico’s arms, sides, legs. Nico had a wound on his side and one on his forehead, but other than that there wre only a few scrapes.

“ _Écheis fáei amvrosía?_ ”

Nico shook his head.

Percy huffed and dug around in his pockets. “ _Oríste._ ”

Nico took the ambrosia square and bit off a corner. Percy breathed a sigh of relief and brushed Nico’s bangs back.

There was a sound at the back of the nave, and Percy jerked to angle his body around Nico’s. “Who’s there?”

Father Hector stepped into the light, eyes wide and careful. He made to move toward them, but Percy growled and sheltered Nico with his body, and Father Hector stopped.

Nico keened softly, and Percy pulled him carefully into his lap.

“He’s okay,” Nico said. “He can come over.”

Percy nuzzled into Nico’s hair, and nodded at the priest. Father Hector sat down behind them and leaned forward on the back of their pew. Percy’s eyes watched him warily, but Nico’s eyes were closed.

They stayed there for a long time.

 

_Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these..._

 

Nico remembered the spray of the water, St. Mark’s Square on a sunny morning, pigeons begging for food, the domes and spires of the Basilica, the _Triumphal Quadriga_ just inside the main entrance. He remembered the tight alleys, the apartment houses that stretched up to look over each other, warm bowls of _risi e bisi_ , Bianca’s hand in his.

He remembered how Christians were persecuted in Rome, how Emperor Constantine legalized Christianity, how pagans were persecuted in Rome.

He remembered standing on the deck of the _Argo II,_ the canals of Venice stretched before him, and wanting to jump overboard and never resurface.

Percy’s heartbeat thrummed steadily in his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> All verses taken from the NIV Bible. In order of appearance: Genesis 1:5, Exodus 20:3, Luke 14:26, Luke 22:42, John 10:11, Romans 1:27, Matthew 10:33, Matthew 5:3, Ezekiel 35:8-9, Matthew 19:14  
> Time for translations! The first bit is the Our Father in Italian, then we have the Tantum Ergo which is a Gregorian chant in Latin, and then we have “in saecula saeculorum” which means “for ever and ever” in Latin, and then there’s the Hail Mary in Italian, and then a bunch of Percy fussing in Greek: Where were you? Where are you hurt? Huh? Have you eaten ambrosia? Here you go. And risi e bisi is rice and peas in Italian. I DO NOT SPEAK ANY OF THESE LANGUAGES. I’m quite certain of the Italian and Latin since I just looked up the prayers and things online, but I used Google Translate for the Greek and that’s sure to be a mess.   
> Thank you to idunno for helping me correct the Greek!


End file.
